


B-Sides

by prettylittlementirosa



Series: a thrill to press my cheek to [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 07:49:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7836334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettylittlementirosa/pseuds/prettylittlementirosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of ficlets (b-sides) from My Autumn Touch of Gold. Each chapter will be a stand-alone piece so you can look at the summary/notes for each individual chapter and decide if it's something you want to read or not. But if you haven't read My Autumn Touch of Gold (or any of the other works in the 'a thrill to press my cheek to' series) none of this will make any sense. I'll try to include a list of ratings/relationships/characters/warnings for each individual story in the notes too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	B-Sides

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: E  
> Relationship: Bucky/Sam  
> Characters: Bucky, Sam  
> Warnings: Implied infidelity, slight dub-con (message me or leave a comment if you need specifics)  
> POV: Bucky  
> Summary: Sam asks Bucky to use a condom (from chapter 5 of My Autumn Touch of Gold)

**December 2019**

“You ready, baby?” Bucky asks, pulling his fingers out and getting on his knees in between Sam’s legs. He’s running a hand up and down Sam’s thigh.

Normally he wouldn’t wait for the answer, wouldn’t need to. The question would be a formality more than anything because he knows when his boyfriend is ready. At least he used to. Right now he’s not even sure if Sam is even listening to him. Sam’s eyes keep drifting to a spot on the ceiling. He’s barely even here. There’s a distance growing between them; it’s been there for months but until tonight it hadn’t touched their bedroom. Until tonight, Bucky could still hold Sam under his fingertips and actually _feel_ him. It still felt like he actually had one thing in this entire world worth living for, worth being _good_ for. And he knows it’s stupid, but some part of him believes that if he can just make Sam feel good, if he can still fuck him the way he knows he loves it, then everything will be okay. Then they will be okay. It’s the one thing Bucky has to offer, the one thing nobody else can. If he can just give that to Sam…

Sam tears his eyes from the ceiling to look at Bucky. “Yeah. Get a condom.”

Suddenly Bucky’s standing in the middle of a museum, surrounded by pictures of a person he used to be, of a life he once lived but he can never go back to.

Before Steve recognized Bucky and started to break through Hydra’s programming, Bucky would get these flashes- they weren’t memories exactly, more like the ghost of memories. Like he knew he _should_ remember something, he just didn’t know what it was. Certain words would catch his attention but he could never figure out why. It was like the world was asking him a question and the answer was always on the tip of his tongue, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t come up with it. _Presque vu_.

Then Steve said his name and everything started to change. Memories flooded in and before he knew it he had the answers to too many questions, to _every_ question. He didn’t want them anymore.

This feels a lot like that.

Bucky feels frozen in place but Sam’s still looking at him, still waiting for him to do something, still asking for this. He’s not telling Bucky _no_. He’s not saying he doesn’t want it. He’s…

Bucky doesn’t know what he’s doing. Everything about this is wrong.

“I don’t have one,” he says. Because he doesn’t. Because they don’t. Because he’s never wanted to protect himself from Sam. He never thought he needed to.

“There’s some in the drawer,” Sam says, nodding in that direction.

There aren’t. There never have been. Bucky opened that drawer just last week while doing a sweep of their apartment. The only things in that drawer are a second bottle of lube and a handful of receipts.

If there are condoms in there right now it’s because Sam put them there.

Bucky looks at him, _really_ looks at him, praying to some god that he knows isn’t listening that Sam is mistaken, that he’s just confused, that whatever is going on in his mind right now has nothing to do with a package of condoms or why they would need them.

Sam just looks back at him, expression unreadable. He might as well be a million miles away.

Bucky leans over and opens the drawer.

Condoms.

His first instinct is to run, to put as much distance between himself and the thing that’s causing him pain as he possibly can.

But the thing that’s causing him pain is Sam.

The thing that’s causing him pain is himself and all the ways that he’s failed.

The thing that’s causing him pain is the fact that he still wants this more than anything in the entire world.

If he can just make Sam feel good…

He pulls a condom out and rips the little foil package open. He doesn’t want to protect himself from Sam.

He rolls it on. Maybe Sam is trying to protect himself from Bucky.

It doesn’t make any sense. Sam has been pushing Bucky away for _months_ ; he’s been holding him at an arm’s distance and walking away and averting his gaze. Bucky has been holding on by a thread, trying to give Sam as much distance as he needs, but always too afraid to let go entirely. He can’t even remember the last time he heard the words _I love you_ come out of Sam’s mouth.

He doesn’t know how to do this.

He lines himself up with Sam, not even bothering to add any more lube, and pushes in. He doesn’t go slow, not the way he normally would. He doesn’t want this. Everything about this is wrong.

When he’s all the way in, he waits for the go ahead from Sam. He doesn’t want it.

But Sam gives it, nods his head like this is how they always do it. Like there’s always a wall between them when Bucky’s inside him. Like the fact that their hands aren’t all over each other, or that they’re not sharing the same breath, or that Bucky doesn’t even know what Sam’s lips taste like right now don’t mean anything.

Sam nods and Bucky’s heart stutters.

He pulls his hips back, just to push forward again.

He can’t do this.

He has to make Sam feel good.

He leans forward, one hand on either side of Sam’s head, and tries to give Sam what he wants, tries to take control of everything, to fuck him hard and deep, to make him really feel it.

Every thrust feels like giving another piece of himself away. Every snap of his hips feels like a step away from this life they’ve made. Every second of this is wrong.

Wrong wrong wrong.

He doesn’t want this.

He wants to make Sam feel good.

There’s a word on the tip of his tongue; it’s threatening to escape, about to break free. He has to bite his lip just to keep it inside.

Volkswagen.

He’s not even holding Sam.

Volkswagen.

This doesn’t feel good.

Volkswagen.

Sam’s coming.

Volkswagen.

He made Sam feel good.

Volkswagen.

He feels empty.

He collapses on the bed next to Sam. He wants to roll over, wants to wrap his arms around him and pull him close to his chest, to bury his face in his neck. He wants to give Sam everything he deserves.

He’ll never be able to do that. He’ll never even come close.

So he gives Sam the one thing he knows how to, the one thing he’s been asking for: space.

He gets up and throws the empty condom in the trash, then goes into their bathroom and turns on the shower. Sam might want space but there’s nothing in the world Bucky wants less. He sits on the shower floor, head between his knees and tries to breathe. He stays there long after the hot water’s run cold, just waiting until the moment he no longer recognizes this feeling.

He’s never going to forget this feeling.

By the time he finally comes back out all the lights are off and Sam is asleep. Bucky crawls into bed and lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling, trying to find whatever’s there that had Sam’s attention so firmly in it’s grasp. He knows there’s nothing there but he looks anyway. If he can just find one thing, just a single water mark or a chip in the drywall, maybe he can convince himself that he didn’t fail so spectacularly at loving the one person who still makes him feel alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all wanted this. I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY WITH YOURSELVES!


End file.
